


From Below

by Salchat



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Action/Adventure, Episode: s05e02 The Seed, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:41:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 15,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22754164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salchat/pseuds/Salchat
Summary: John has not yet recovered from the effects of his wounding by the Wraith tendril in 'The Seed', when a Marine disappears on a routine patrol of a flooded area of Atlantis.  In a terrifying encounter, John discovers what lurks in the watery depths of his City.  Can he and his team defeat this malignant alien, which threatens not just the Expedition, but the City itself?
Comments: 4
Kudos: 37





	1. Chapter 1

_It came from below._

_Far, far below in the deepest reaches of the ocean that never know the light and warmth of the sun, that silent blackness, that savage place of death that comes phosphor-bright with the sudden stranglehold of barbed tentacles and the snap of rending jaws. It had killed and killed and survived and learned for ages beyond knowing, growing in size and strength and in the deadly, piercing intelligence of its predatory mind. It knew all there was to know about the vast world of the ocean; it knew where the shoals swam and where the huge whale-like creatures danced beneath great masses of ice. It knew where the coral grew thick like a city of red and green and blue. And it knew when something changed._

_Through seas and oceans, half a world away and down through the depths from blue to murky green to deepest black had come the tremors that told of an arrival. Hard and shell-like, this new thing rested upon the surface of the ocean and was as full of life as a conch is full of meat. And with this awareness came the hunger and thirst to learn of this thing and to taste the meat within, to feel the crack and gush of life and the sharp, bright flood as the mind as well as the flesh were consumed._

_It travelled along the seabed, fear flying ahead and horror trailing behind, far and farther still until it was aware of the curve of the globe beneath it; and then it rose. It rose, and it changed as it rose, so that it could sustain its shape as the texture of the water itself changed. And through the light blue of shallow waters it saw its quarry. It saw and observed with its knife-sharp mind. It felt the vibrations of the strange life forms, the regular beat as they moved on their two appendages. It slid around the huge shell, testing the integrity here and there until it found a crack; an opening that could be widened just enough for its fluid form to slip within._

_And when one small, stray life came at its siren call, it took that life swiftly and eagerly, it tasted the unfamiliar iron-rich flesh and it subsumed the essence of its prey, red blood mixing with blue and becoming different. Suddenly it knew control. It knew that this strange shell would hear its thoughts and obey them. It knew power._

oOo

Dr Jennifer Keller was pissed. She wasn't a woman given to strong language and under the circumstances, she thought 'pissed' was the least extreme word she could justify to describe her feelings. She marched out onto the balcony that adjoined her infirmary.

"Major Lorne!" The Major in question jumped slightly at the sound of her raised voice and Jennifer detected guilt in his soft, brown, rather attractive eyes, that weren't going to distract her from her wrath one little bit, dammit! There he sat, in full uniform, obviously on duty, actually reporting to Colonel Sheppard under her very nose! 

"Are you aware," she continued, "that Colonel Sheppard has not been declared medically fit for any kind of duty and that I have expressly forbidden his involvement in any of the military affairs of the City until I personally clear him to return to work?"  
Lorne stammered something unintelligible and she drew breath, really getting into her stride for a much-needed rant, when a quiet but authoritative voice interrupted her flow.

"Doc."

Jennifer turned to her patient, who regarded her calmly, his shadowed eyes unapologetic.

"Doc, someone's been killed."

"Disappeared!" interrupted Major Lorne. "There's been no body found yet."

John looked seriously at his 2IC. "But nothing on the life signs detector?" he asked.  
Lorne shook his head. "No. Nothing."

Jennifer, stunned, pulled up a chair and sat down slowly. "Who?"

"One of the new intake of Marines. Private Hutchins."

"Oh, not Marie! I remember her from her medical," said Jennifer, with shocked surprise. "She was so pleased to be here, she talked non-stop. So pleased... and so excited because she was an ATA carrier. What happened?"

"Well, that's just it, Ma'am, we don't know," said Lorne. "She was on a routine patrol. Checking out an area that's flooded due to some damage to the hull. For some reason she wandered off, then... nothing. No sign."

Jennifer shook her head, once more dismayed at the fragility of life in the Pegasus Galaxy. Then she remembered her anger.

"Well, there's nothing Colonel Sheppard can do about it right now and he needs to rest!" Lorne took that as his cue to leave, and nodding at his commander, went off to resume the search.

Jennifer looked at Colonel Sheppard. It had been a week since that awful wraith tendril creature had invaded her body and mind, but, apart from the nightmares, Jennifer felt she'd got off pretty lightly. John, however, had added another stomach wound to his collection and would need quite a few weeks to recover and regain his strength. He looked tired and wore a thick fleece jacket over his t-shirt even though it was a mild, sunny day. He gave her a grimace that looked like it was trying to be a smile. She sighed. It was as if his face was so used to expressions of pain that it had forgotten how to do anything else.

"Colonel," she began, then sighed again. "John. I know you want to stay on Atlantis to recuperate, but if I can't trust you to follow my orders, you know I'm going to send you back to Earth, don't you?"

He echoed her sigh with one of his own and fiddled with the hem of the blanket that covered his legs.

"I know that," he said, looking down. "But you won't have to."

Jennifer edged her chair closer to his. "This is your second serious wound in just a few months. You'd only just recovered from the last one and..."

"I'm well aware of that!" he said, through gritted teeth.

Jennifer held up her hands in a placatory gesture. "I know, I'm sorry, I know this must be hard for you, having to go through it all again."

His eyes flicked up to meet hers and in that brief glance she saw his anger and frustration and her heart ached in sympathy. She had watched him conquer the weakness and pain which had resulted from his injury in the collapse of Michael's lab, seen him slowly regain his strength and known that he was hiding how much he'd also had to struggle to regain his normal optimistic spirit.

"You have to give yourself a chance," she said, steadily. "Give your body the time it needs." She paused. "You know we're all here for you, right?"

"Yeah," he nodded.

"And I'm not going to patronise you and say you'll be back to your old self in no time, because we both know that's not true."

"Hm." He gave an indeterminate grunt and shrug of acknowledgement.

"But, I'm prepared to discharge you from the infirmary, as long as you rest in your quarters.

"Okay."

Jennifer had expected a bit more enthusiasm. She continued.

"You'll need to continue with your pain meds, every four hours," she said, holding out a bottle of pills which Sheppard took. "And I guess you remember the routine from last time?"

He blew out a resigned breath. "No lifting, no doing much at all apart from 'gentle walking'."

"You remember the exercises?"

"Yes," he said, tightly. Jennifer wondered how long he could clamp down his frustration before he lost his temper.

"Don't overdo them, will you?"

"No."

"Okay, well, that's it, then," Jennifer said, trying to inject a note of brightness into her voice. "I asked... Oh, here he is now!" Jennifer felt a natural smile break out over her face.

"Escort service, reporting for duty!" Dr Rodney McKay bounced onto the balcony and gave her a mock salute. John scowled. "Oh, come on Sheppard, I'm here to break you out!"

"Let's go, then," John said gruffly and, throwing the blanket aside, rose slowly and stiffly from his chair.

"Oh, erm, should I get a wheelchair?" asked Rodney, uncertainly.

"No!" John vigorously protested.

"No," Jennifer said, calmly. "A short walk is fine. A short one. Slowly."

oOo

Rodney tried not to hover. He tried not to twitch. He tried not to do or say anything solicitous, but just to walk down the hall normally, with his friend and colleague, there just in case, but not actually doing anything to show his concern.

"McKay!"

"What? What? I'm not doing anything!"

"You're... thinking! I can feel it!" John stopped, his hands fisted at his sides and looked like he was concentrating on just staying upright.

"Well, forgive me for caring!" Rodney protested. "It's hard to pretend you're fine when you look like the next stray gust of wind'll carry you away!"

"We're inside. There isn't any wind," said John, irritably, continuing slowly down the hallway.

"Well, you know, some of these corridors are pretty draughty."

They continued in silence until they reached the nearby transporter. Rodney pressed the display and a brief flash of light indicated their movement to the residential area. They stepped out and John said, grudgingly, "Thanks. I can take it from here."

"Er, well, no, I promised to see you safely installed in your quarters, so..."

"Fine." John huffed and, turning away too quickly, managed to stumble and would have fallen if Rodney's arm hadn't shot out and caught his elbow. Rodney, suppressing the urge to say, "See, told you so!" or words to that effect, watched as John's free arm clasped his injured side and he clamped his lower lip between his teeth, eyes closed. After a few seconds he opened his eyes and resumed his halting progress. He didn't shrug off Rodney's arm, but allowed his friend, without comment, to guide him the rest of the way to his quarters.

They entered and Rodney watched John's eyes flicker round the room, taking in the preparations that had been made for his convalescence; the stack of assorted pillows and cushions on the bed, because last time Rodney knew John had struggled to sleep unless he was propped up, the bottles of water within reach on the nightstand, the laptop ready set up on a small table, a stack of DVDs sitting next to it.

"Thanks," John said tiredly and didn't protest as Rodney helped lower him slowly to the bed. He sat, sagging slightly, depression in the droop of his shoulders.

Rodney stood, awkwardly, fiddling with the cuffs of his jacket, trying to think of something to say.

"You hungry?"

"No."

"Oh, you can eat, can't you now? I mean normal food? Because for a couple of days..."

"Yeah. Just not hungry."

"Okay." A heavy silence. "So, can I do anything else?"

"No!" John said sharply, then more quietly: "I mean, no thanks. Think I'm gonna try to get some sleep." He eased his legs up onto the bed and lay back on the mounded pillows, his eyes closed. John didn't say anything when Rodney took off his sneakers and drew up the comforter to cover him, but as Rodney turned to go, he caught a mumbled, "Thanks, Rodney."

Teyla was waiting outside the door, Torren in her arms. "How is he?" she asked.

"About how you'd expect," said Rodney.

"I would expect John to be frustrated at his condition," said Teyla.

"Frustrated, yes, but this seems more like depression to me."

Torren squeaked quietly and Teyla jiggled him slightly up and down. "John's mind will grow strong along with his body," she said calmly. "And we will help."

"If he lets us," said Rodney gloomily.

Teyla met Rodney's frown with a rueful smile. He shrugged and they went their separate ways.


	2. Chapter 2

It was late. John couldn't sleep. At first he had been speculating fruitlessly about the fate of Private Hutchins, worried that where there had been one disappearance, there could be more. He knew Major Lorne was a capable soldier and would do all that should be done, but for John, if anyone was hurt (or worse) right here in the City it was just that bit more personal, just that bit more galling, because it had happened in his territory.

After a while, though, John's thoughts had stilled and his eyes had begun to close. Unfortunately, it was at that point that he began to feel uncomfortable. He tried to change position, but it seemed as if tonight there weren't any comfortable positions. He lay on his back, propped up by the strange assortment of pillows and cushions that Rodney had assembled for him. The pain in his stomach was steadily increasing and his back was aching too, muscles weakened by forced inactivity. John knew he would have to move. And it would hurt to move. So he'd wait, until lying still hurt more and then that would be an incentive. He turned his head and looked at his alarm clock. Not time for another pain pill.

Another need made itself known and John growled in annoyance. He glared at the distance between his bed and the bathroom and groaned in anticipation of what he knew from experience would be an ordeal. It wasn't cold in his room, but whenever he had to get up in the night his body would notice the difference between his cosy bed and the outside air. His muscles would begin to tense up, which would be painful, which would make him tense up even more, no matter how hard he tried not to, which would be even more painful and the cycle would go on until his stomach was one hard mass of agony. But he had to go.

John turned onto his side and, holding onto one bent knee and thrusting his leg forward, he managed to gain enough momentum to pull himself up to sitting on the side of the bed with minimal pain. He deliberately placed both feet flat on the floor and gradually transferred his weight, straightening up slowly. As predicted, the whole pain-tension cycle began and John made his way to the bathroom, swearing with every agonising step.

Having taken care of business, he caught sight of himself in the mirror and stopped, staring. It was like looking at an old man. His shoulders were hunched over, back bent, one arm clasped around his aching abdomen, the suffering of recent months clearly visible in his lined and shadowed face. His eyes, narrowed with tension, were defensive, like an animal that has been hurt and no longer trusts the world. John just looked at himself and, for the first time, wondered if Jennifer was right. Maybe he should go back to Earth. The Atlantis Expedition deserved and desperately needed a commander who could do his job, somebody strong, who could act quickly and decisively. But he couldn't go back. The Air Force doctors on Earth might decide he was fit only for a desk job; he might never see Atlantis again. But even if he recovered this time around, how much longer could he go on? Sooner or later he would either be killed or hurt badly enough to be permanently grounded, to be permanently separated from Atlantis, his true home. John felt his heart speed up and his throat constrict, sweat broke out across his brow and he clung, white-knuckled, to the edge of the basin.

Then suddenly he became still. He closed his eyes and made himself relax each tense muscle, one by one, breathing slowly in and out until his heart rate decreased. Once more, he looked in the mirror and this time met his own eyes. He regarded himself with a wry twist to his mouth and a challenging look. "Get a grip, John," he told himself firmly, knowing that his suffering in the past weeks and months, his sleeplessness and his lack of useful occupation were responsible for the dark direction of his thoughts. He would deal with the present moment and that would have to be enough.

John turned stiffly and was about to make his way back to bed when he stopped. He didn't feel sleepy and Jennifer had said walking was okay. And he could sleep tomorrow. He grabbed the fleece he'd been wearing earlier, debated the need for shoes and socks versus the discomfort of trying to get them on and decided in favour of sneakers, shoving his bare feet into them as best he could.

John found the corridors of Atlantis soothing at night, the elegant lines and muted colours a familiar beauty, the emptiness reminding him of the long millennia the city had lain silent. He walked slowly and stiffly with none of his usual loose-limbed grace, feeling like he had to concentrate hard to maintain an upright position, trying to keep his shoulders back rather than stooping forward, taking short strides so as not to stretch painful muscles. At least there was nobody around to pity or fuss and John took full advantage of that fact, allowing his face to reflect his pain for a change and stopping every so often to rest when, had anyone been watching, he would have pushed on.

John came to a transporter and suddenly had the urge to see the sea, close up, and feel the wind blowing the salt spray up into his face. He could transport easily right out to the end of one of the piers, step outside for just a minute or two and then come back. Even Jennifer couldn't object to that. He entered the transporter, pressed his destination and saw the familiar flash; the doors opened onto darkness and behind John the glow of the transporter display slowly faded to nothing. John gave the lights a peremptory mental command, with no result. He touched the transporter controls and felt around in his mind, but there was nothing; it was as if there were a barrier between him and the City.

John's eyes had adjusted to the dark and he could see a very pale glow that lit the corridor just enough so that he could see the outline of the walls. He stepped forward. Then he froze. A sense of sheer wrongness assailed him, a heavy, oppressive malevolence that he could feel through the floor beneath his feet, through the bitter ammonia scent of the air and through that other sense, where normally he would feel the link to Atlantis; he felt instead an insidious presence in his mind. He had a sense of a being with thought-processes alien to his own and yet the overwhelming urge to dominate was clear and the impression of a powerful yet subtle intellect, the mind convoluted and strange, formed from the twisted thoughts of countless years of solitary predation. 

It urged him to come, to move forward toward the pale light, to join it in the cold depths of the endless ocean.

Five years ago, John would not have stood a chance. His mind, untried, undisciplined, would have opened to the invasion and he would have stepped forward blindly and met his fate. But John's mind was not open as it would once have been; his use of Ancient technology had demanded that he be able to compartmentalise his thoughts, his encounters with wraith Queens had given him experience of alien minds invading his own. He slammed down a mental shutter as hard and tight as he could and at the same time he called out to Atlantis, a vehement command, an urgent appeal; the lights flared and John stepped back into the transporter. It took him away instantly.

He stepped forward into bright light and staggered, falling against the nearest wall. He felt sick and shaky, not sure what had just happened. What could be so wrong that his connection with Atlantis had been briefly severed? What was it that had projected such an overwhelming sense of dreadful power? His scattered thoughts coalesced: Private Hutchins. She had disappeared in that same area. Here, in some way, was the answer to the mystery.

"Sir? Are you alright?"

John looked up. Corporal Benson, on the night patrol around the Gateroom. Atlantis had brought him to her heart. 

"Yeah, er, no." John pushed away from the wall and tried to straighten up. "I need you to call Major Lorne, have him assemble a security detail."

oOo

John sat, slouched in his chair, uncomfortable, but unwilling to go through the even more painful process of adjusting his position with an audience. Woolsey sat behind his desk, impeccably dressed despite the late hour, Rodney, in one of the other armchairs, in rumpled uniform having come straight from his lab.

"There's no record in the transporter log," he said again. "And no life signs in that area apart from Lorne and his team."

"That's because it's in control, it's in the system," said John. "I can get Atlantis to hide me - so can it."

John noticed Rodney and Woolsey give each other a sidelong glance.

"What exactly are you suggesting is going on here, Colonel Sheppard?" Woolsey asked in his precise manner. "What is this 'it' you refer to?"

"I don't know," John mumbled. He rubbed his eyes tiredly. "I just know there's something there, something that I could feel. Same as when I turn the lights on and off or pilot a jumper. And it... called out somehow. In my mind. I think it got Private Hutchins."

Rodney looked sceptical. "So you're saying there's an unspecified 'presence' hiding out in the City, using its ATA gene to take over?"

"I didn't say it was taking over."

Major Lorne appeared in the doorway and the three men looked up, expectantly.

"Nothing to report, Sirs, area's clear," said Lorne.

John shook his head.

"Thank you, Major, you may stand your men down now," said Woolsey.

There was an awkward silence when Major Lorne had gone. John felt foolish, having turned everyone out of bed in the middle of the night, and yet he was sure there was something down there, something that shouldn't be ignored.

Rodney cleared his throat nervously. "Um... What painkillers are you on, Sheppard?"

"Percocet, why?"

"Well... They're a morphine derivative, aren't they?"

John glared. "Yes," he replied tightly.

"Don't you think maybe..."

"No. No, Rodney, I don't think I imagined it all. I think there's something down there and I think we need to keep looking til we find it!" John had hauled himself painfully to his feet as he spoke. "I'm sorry to have disturbed you, Mr Woolsey, but I know I'm right about this."

Woolsey took off his glasses and began cleaning them. "I think you should go and get some sleep, Colonel. We can talk about this tomorrow."

Woolsey's words were spoken with an air of gentle regret, with the air of one pacifying an over-tired child. John bit back an angry response, turned and began to limp slowly to his quarters, head down, unwilling to meet the eyes of any of the night workers. His side ached sharply and he pressed one hand against it so that he could move a little faster.

"Sheppard!" Rodney's voice, behind him.

John carried on, saying nothing. Rodney easily caught him up.

"Look, I'll go down there myself tomorrow, I'll take an LSD and check the whole area. I just think..."

"Don't go alone," John interrupted. "Take a team, don't split up."

"Okay, but..."

John stopped and turned to Rodney, gripping his arm and meeting his eyes with an intense gaze. "Don't split up!"

"We won't!" said Rodney. "Whatever you say!"

John continued to stare, reading disbelief in Rodney's eyes, then he turned, his shoulders sagging dispiritedly and walked away.

oOo

It had not the anatomy for smiling, but was amused nonetheless. The little creatures, humans, were easily fooled; it was aware of their movements, skittering here and there like shoals of tiny fish. They sought it, heedless of their danger, without comprehension of what they sought. And yet, for now it would not strike. It had moved, smoothly as the turn of the tide, out of the narrow aperture and into the wide-open sea.

It drifted idly with the flow of the gentle current, spreading its form to feel the pull of the ocean, the small tremors from insignificant marine creatures not worthy of notice and the bigger vibrations that came from the place it had learned to call Atlantis. It would wait. It knew its quarry now, the one it would devour first; the one the city obeyed above all others.


	3. Chapter 3

"What was this place?" asked Ronon, shining his flashlight around the room.

"My guess is a marine observation area," replied Rodney. "Although whether for scientific purposes or somewhere nice to bring your date for a romantic dinner with a sea view... Who knows?"

Ronon, Teyla and Rodney stood, leaning against the railing looking down over the flooded room. The lights had been working in the central corridor, but here there was only the greyness of an overcast day filtering through the huge viewing windows. The room was double height, the lower level being below sea level, creating an underwater viewing area. But the lower section was flooded and, following the wall around the elevated walkway, LSD in hand, Rodney found it difficult to imagine that there could be anything particularly sinister lurking below.

"This room appears to be empty too," said Teyla.

"Yes," mused Rodney. "I suppose eventually someone should take a jumper and check where the water got in, carry out repairs, pump it out and so on and so forth."

"Needs an engineering team," said Ronon. "Good guys, the engineers. Don't mind taking a few hits."

"Do you judge everyone by their ability to fight?" asked Rodney.

Ronon just shrugged. "This the last room?"

"Yes," said Rodney. "There's nothing here."

The team stood in the gloom, watching the waves lap against the windows, looking down over the murky green depths of the flood water.

"If Sheppard said there was something here, then there was," Ronon said, stubbornly.

"He didn't actually see anything!" Rodney protested.

"I trust Sheppard," Ronon insisted.

"So do I! Normally." Rodney looked uncomfortable, his mouth an unhappy curve. "But he didn't see anything, the transporter logs didn't even register his trip down here and... he's on some pretty strong medication."

"You believe Colonel Sheppard imagined he was in danger?" Teyla asked.

"I don't know what to believe," said Rodney, shrugging his shoulders.

"It may not have been something that could be seen," Teyla said calmly. "We have all experienced things..."

"Yes, yes, I know," Rodney interrupted. "'There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of' blah blah blah. I know that!"

Rodney felt Ronon looming disapprovingly.

Teyla put her hand on Rodney's arm. "You are worried about John," she said. "We are worried too."

Rodney looked down, avoiding Teyla's gaze. "Jennifer says she'll have to send him back to Earth to convalesce if he can't rest properly on Atlantis," he said quietly.

"Would that be so bad?" Teyla asked.

"Yes! Yes, it would be bad! You know what they're like! The IOA have always been looking for an excuse to get rid of Sheppard! We'd never get him back!"

"Then we don't let them take him," said Ronon stolidly.

"Oh, right, because we could really stop them!" Rodney resorted, as usual, to sarcasm.

"This is not helping!" said Teyla repressively. "John needs our support and he will have it, whether that means making sure he rests or trusting him to know when there is something wrong."

Rodney sighed. "I'll check the citywide sensors. Maybe I can adjust them, make sure they pick up any... anything." He waved a hand with little enthusiasm.

"But how will we ensure John is following Doctor Keller's orders?" asked Teyla.

"I'll stand outside his room. Stop him if he goes out," said Ronon.

"No, he won't stand for that! I'll just rig the sensors to follow his sub-cue tracker."

"He would not like that either!" said Teyla.

"He won't know, will he?" Rodney responded.

Nobody said anything. They turned and headed back to the transporter, none of them particularly happy with their morning's work.

oOo

John sat on his bed, staring at the blank screen of the laptop. He had been going to watch a movie, but couldn't decide which one, his thoughts constantly returning to the night before. He bitterly regretted calling out Lorne and the security detail. Lorne had led to Woolsey and, inevitably, Rodney and now they all thought he was imagining things. He should have investigated more himself and in the stark white light of a drizzly day, John found it difficult to recall the horror of the presence in his mind. Had he run away when he should have gone forward to learn the truth? Would more of his people have to pay the price because he had had a moment of weakness, of ... cowardice? Or was Rodney right? John didn't think the painkillers were making him hallucinate; he wasn't on that strong a dose. But maybe the pain and the exhaustion and the drugs all added up to some kind of paranoid delusion.

Woolsey hadn't questioned John again, another indication that he thought the matter not worth discussing. Keller, however, had paid him a visit, which on her side consisted of a repetition of her threat to send him to Earth and on his of sullen silence and monosyllabic responses.

His team clearly thought he couldn't look after himself. John knew they were watching him, somehow. At lunchtime, bored in his quarters, he had decided to head for the mess and almost straight away Ronon appeared at his side. That wasn't, in itself, suspicious, but later on John had decided to walk just to the nearest balcony to get some fresh air, whereupon Teyla arrived offering to accompany him. John, testing a theory, had ventured out once more, even though actually he was already tired and achy. Almost immediately Ronon was there again. John gave him a narrow-eyed glare, turned and went back into his room.

John let his head fall back on the pillows and closed his eyes, confused thoughts whirling in his head. His priority must, as always, be the safety of the city, therefore he must set aside any considerations of his reputation and do what was right for the people he was there to protect. And if this led to his being labelled delusional, well, so be it. John made plans for a solo mission. He would temporarily stop taking the Percocet, to be sure of a clear head. He would arm himself; the handgun he kept in his room would have to do. Taking a P90 from the armoury might just be a clue that he was up to something. What to do about his team? It was clear Rodney was tracking him somehow, but there were ways around that. Tonight, he would find out one way or another what was going on. Satisfied for now, John let his tired mind and body relax into sleep.

oOo

His hand flat against the wall, John felt the tingle of power run up his arm, the background hum of Atlantis' normal running becoming a more lively presence in his mind. He 'talked' to Atlantis. _There's a whole load of my DNA in this location. So, let's just say, for now, that I'm here, staying nice and safe in this room and any reports of me being out and about must be false, right?_ He felt a slight shift in his mind as his wishes were carried out and withdrew his hand from the wall.

John had dressed in his BDUs, his Para .45 in its thigh holster, a knife at his belt. His boots had been a challenge, especially as he had missed the last couple of doses of painkiller, but now that he was ready, he felt a nice little zing of adrenaline which made it possible to ignore the pain in his side and the weakness in his muscles at least for now. John slipped out. The shadowy night-time corridors enfolded him and he had to admit to feeling a guilty thrill at having escaped from any watchful eyes. He entered the transporter and allowed the doors to close. He drew his pistol, tapped his destination and flattened himself into the corner to one side of the doors.

A flash and the doors slid open. John was immediately assailed by the rankness of ammonia, so strong it stung his eyes. He braced himself mentally and, pistol held before him in both hands, edged around the door and into the corridor. Something began to press against his mind and the lights flickered. John was ready; he held the lights on. He edged down the side of the corridor, registering the strong siren-call tugging at his consciousness, but keeping it at bay and moving forward deliberately, of his own volition. He saw, in contrast to the yellow light from the wall sconces, a pale blue glow coming from an open doorway: his destination. Whatever was to be found would be in that room. John could feel his heartbeat quicken, sweat broke out on his brow, a mixture of anticipation and the effort it was costing him to resist the pressure on his mind. He reached the doorway and stood to one side, back to the wall, his weapon ready. He took a steadying breath and stepped round firmly, entering the room. 

A metal walkway, a staircase leading down, water lapping at the steps, eerily lit from below with white-blue phosphorescence. John's footsteps rang with metallic hollowness; his breath sounded loud in the large, empty space. Somewhere, something dripped steadily. He stepped forward to the railing and looked down into the cold, still water, the gentle ripples casting wavering patterns of blue light up onto his pale face.

At first, John did not comprehend what was below him. His mind, still struggling for control, saw simply a wide, circular blackness, flat and featureless, surrounded by an expanse of yellowish-white. Then he realised that he was looking at a gigantic eye. In his shock his control slipped and he received a blast from the creature's mind full of such hatred and anger and yet so fascinatingly alluring that it was all John could do to cling to the railing and stop himself jumping over to give his life to the dreadful monster. John's hand gripped the railing, his arm shook, he closed his eyes and struggled desperately to force the alien presence out of his mind. He could feel himself weakening and tensed all his muscles hard in an effort to resist. His hand felt the grip of his pistol digging into his skin. In one jerk he thrust out his arm and fired, directly down, straight into the midnight depths of the giant eye, firing and firing until he heard the click of the empty magazine. 

He felt the creature's pain, like a knife in his head, but its control was weakened. He turned and ran for the door and hurtled out into the corridor, aware that the beast would not be pacified for long. Something sharp grazed his back then he felt a tight grip on his arm, his momentum spun him around and he crashed to the floor. He saw a long, white, blue-veined tentacle, its wide, blade-shaped end wrapped tightly around his upper arm. More tentacles were emerging from the doorway, flailing blindly toward him. John drew his knife and slashed hard, again and again at the tentacle. The tough flesh parted under the onslaught and John skidded and flailed to his feet and hurled himself frantically toward the transporter. Nearly there, he was again jerked roughly to a halt, falling full length to the floor; it had his ankle. He felt himself pulled, and writhing within the thing's grasp, turned over to see a mass of the white tentacles approaching, edged with barbed hooks, their tips as prehensile as fingers. He cringed at the thought of their touch on his flesh as he was dragged nearer and nearer to their deadly clasp.


	4. Chapter 4

It had the man. It gripped him tightly with one of its long tentacles and felt the hooks dig into his flesh. His mind was weakening; it could feel his pain. Soon it would have him, flesh and blood, and in taking this one's blood into its own it would have full mastery over the city. The creatures within could be herded this way and all would be consumed. It believed, moreover, that this place hid more secrets. That first small creature's mind had known that the city could defend itself, could hide itself from predators - that it could fly.

A jab, a rip and a wrenching pain and it felt its tentacle give way. The man was free. It launched its remaining arms, striking at wall and floor again and again as far as it could reach. It would haul itself out; it would have him, come what may. But he was gone. His mind was distant, hidden deep within the city once more. It subsided, its tentacles withdrawing into the water with a swish and a slap. He would be back. And it would be waiting.

oOo

John sank to the floor, shuddering with shock and pain, his chest heaving, his mind full of terror. His stomach was a tearing agony, his left arm and right ankle running with blood, still with some of the cruel hooks embedded where they had torn out of the evil tentacles. He felt a long burning streak across his back where the tentacle had first tried to grab him. John's breathing steadied gradually, his thoughts became more rational and turned immediately toward the defence of his city; from somewhere another burst of adrenaline got him to his feet.

He was near the Chair Room and gave thanks that Atlantis seemed to know his thoughts before he did. He staggered along, bent over, arm clasped to his side. The door opened ahead of him, he stumbled up onto the platform and collapsed into the chair. He didn't want to sit back; to lie nearly flat would increase the agony in his abdomen. Again, Atlantis seemed to respond to his needs and instead of its usual eagerness, the Chair eased back slowly. John placed his hands on the arm rests and closed his eyes. He felt the creature's presence immediately, at the edge of his consciousness, its mind, like its tentacles, struggling to obtain a grip on the city's controls. He sealed the nearest transporter and closed and cauterised the power conduits nearby. Then he carried out an intense scrutiny of Atlantis' hull, searching for any chink, any crack or aperture where the creature might squeeze its way inside and in those areas he locked and sealed bulkheads in a way he hadn't known was possible, directing energy to the joins until they melted together. At last he felt the City was secure. He could no longer feel the creature's presence in any part of the system. 

John released the mental link, exhausted. The chair eased upright and he slumped forward, curling over his right side. He was cold, shivering, in pain from his wound and from his new injuries. He knew his legs wouldn't carry him even as far as the nearest transporter and his clothes felt wet with blood. He felt himself falling forward and just managed to control his fall so that he slithered to the floor and came to rest leaning sideways on the footrest, his head pillowed on his right arm on the seat of the chair. He allowed himself to drift, hoping help would come soon.

oOo

Rodney did not appreciate being called out two nights in a row and tonight he had actually been in his room, asleep. The night staff had noticed some strange readings in the lower city and had woken him up for what had better be a good reason he thought, as he reached the control level.

The technician on duty began to explain, but he interrupted.

"Just let me see!" Rodney elbowed the man out of the way and began scrolling through the readings, muttering to himself. He frowned and then brought up a different screen. "Someone's been using the Chair - who's down there?"

"Nobody's gone down there as far as I know, but maybe..."

"Never mind! The right hand doesn't know what the left hand is doing as usual! Out of the way!" He pushed another technician aside and checked the biometric scanner. "Nobody there now. Huh. Well, whoever it was has made a mess!" He paused, a sudden suspicion crossing his mind. He checked the scanner again, in particular, Sheppard's room. To a casual glance it appeared all was well, but checking the readout, Rodney wasn't convinced. "You and you," he said pointing to two of the Marines. "Come with me!" He stopped and jabbed a finger at one of the technicians. "And you, page Dr Keller and have her come down to the Chair Room."

oOo

The door opened and the room was in darkness, but in the light streaming in from the hallway Rodney could see a figure, huddled at the base of the Chair.

"Sheppard!" Rodney waved up the lights and hurried forward, taking in John's torn and bloody clothes and remembering that no life signs had registered in the system. Crouching down and feeling John's neck for a pulse he felt queasy with relief. There was a rapid beat beneath his fingers.

"Sheppard, what have you done to yourself now?" There was no response and John's pale skin felt cold. Rodney's hand came away red where he touched John's clothes around his wounds and there were smears of blood on the Chair. He peeled the fabric up to see if John was still bleeding, but there seemed only to be a sluggish trickle here and there. Rodney took off his jacket, put it round John's shoulders and lowered him carefully to the floor. John's brows contracted and his head began to move from side to side as if trying to escape from the pain in his body. 

"You're going to be alright, Jennifer'll be here soon." John's eyes opened slightly and he tried to move, panting and grimacing in pain. "Just stay still or you'll start bleeding again!" ordered Rodney.

Then, to his relief, Jennifer arrived. She was already calling for a gurney as she crossed the floor, then she knelt down, felt John's pulse and began assessing his injuries. John stirred slightly and groaned in pain.

"I don't know what trouble he's got into this time, but I guess this is Sheppard's ticket back to Earth," said Rodney, glumly.

"No," said Jennifer applying a dressing to John's arm.

"No?"

"I don't know what happened either, but," she began wrapping another dressing around his ankle, "I think the Colonel must have had his reasons." She stepped back as the gurney arrived and her staff began carefully lifting John on to it.

Rodney frowned and followed Jennifer out of the room. As they hurried after the other medics, Jennifer held something out. It looked like a claw.

oOo

Rodney sat down heavily in the waiting area outside the infirmary. He leant forward, elbows on his knees and blew out a long breath, then scrubbed at his face with both hands and sat back, thinking. He knew he would not be alone for long; the techs would have called Woolsey, he had called Ronon and Teyla and then, thinking about what John appeared to have done from the Chair, he had called Zelenka. Rodney reached into his pocket and drew out the hooked claw that Jennifer had found, studying its crooked curve and wickedly sharp tip. He shuddered and felt a pang of guilt; his friend was now lying in the infirmary having more of these hooks extracted from his body because Rodney had not only doubted him but had relied on technology to keep track of him when Rodney should have been looking after him in person. For John to have felt he had to go after the creature alone, when he was already injured told Rodney exactly how John must have been feeling about his team. Rodney's downward spiral of self-recrimination was interrupted by the entrance of Richard Woolsey.

"Dr McKay! What happened? I was told Colonel Sheppard had been using the Weapons Chair!"

"We should have trusted him!" Rodney burst out, getting up and beginning to pace about the room. "How many times has he been right before? Just because he didn't have any evidence! Somebody disappeared! That's got to be caused by something - how much evidence do you need? And I just saw his weakness and forgot about him being John Sheppard!" Rodney noticed Ronon and Teyla standing in the doorway. "Next time I try to talk you out of trusting Sheppard, either one or both of you be sure and hit me!" Rodney slumped down onto a chair and put his head in his hands again. Teyla sat down next to him. Ronon said, "What's going on? Where's Sheppard?"

"Yes, Dr McKay, now is not the time for analysing our actions," said Woolsey. "Please tell us what has occurred."

Rodney gave them a brief account of events, liberally interspersed with self-blame. He held out the barbed hook and it was passed round.

"Shark tooth?" said Ronon.

"No. At least I don't think so," said Rodney. "Not from the pattern of the injuries."

"And you think Colonel Sheppard has sealed off peripheral areas of the city?" asked Woolsey.

"Yes, but I don't know how. I'll send Zelenka down to look, if he ever gets here."

"I am here! What do you need me to look for in the middle of the night, Rodney?"

Rodney gave Zelenka a curt briefing and Zelenka, wisely not protesting at Rodney's disposal of his time, set off busily to round up a team. 

Then they waited, as they had done so many times before.


	5. Chapter 5

Jennifer was proud of her efficient team of nurses; they knew exactly what to do and she barely had to give any orders. Arriving at the infirmary, Colonel Sheppard had been pale and shaking and he had swiftly been given oxygen, piled with warmed blankets and his legs elevated. An IV had been set up to deliver fluids; Jennifer thought that would be enough without giving him a transfusion. The nurses had then removed his clothes and cleaned off the worst of the blood, their movements efficient and yet gentle with a high regard for the dignity of their patient.

Jennifer had given the Colonel a quick once over with the Ancient scanner and now sat beside his bed on a stool, a tray of equipment on a small table next to her. She glanced at the monitors and then looked at John's face. He was less pale and was regarding her through heavy-lidded eyes, his exhaustion and the warmth of the blankets pulled up to his chin making him drowsy.

"What's the damage, Doc?" he whispered.

"Well, from what I saw earlier," she replied, "I think you have some pretty nasty puncture wounds. I'll start on your arm, see if I can pluck out those nasty little hooks." Jennifer had unwrapped the dressing from John's arm and was scrutinising it closely. She shook her head. 

"What?" said John, alarmed.

"Well, I was hoping to get away with a bit of local anaesthetic, but some of these are in pretty deep. So, I think we'll go for a little Fentanyl as well as the local and a light sedative and we'll soon have you sorted out." She gave directions to her nurses and they moved into action once more.

Jennifer watched as John's eyes grew unfocused from the IV drugs. She injected the local anaesthetic and then tested various areas on his arm, asking him if he could feel anything. He responded with a grunt and a slight shake of his head, so she proceeded to extract the sharp hooks. It was tricky but satisfying in its own way. The infirmary was quiet apart from the chink of the cruel barbs as they landed one by one into a kidney dish. The wounds had started to bleed again but Jennifer let the blood flow, knowing it would help to clear out any dirt. Then she cleaned the cuts and set neat stitches in one or two areas where the hooks had torn John's skin raggedly, and then moved onto his ankle, leaving a nurse to apply a dressing to his arm. John was dozing but she shook him gently to let him know before she injected local anaesthetic around his ankle wounds and he vaguely replied, not responding to her probing to check the area was numb. The chink of hooks into the dish began again.

John mumbled, cleared his throat, then said, "Giant squid."

"Sorry?"

"Or something like that. Well, alien giant squid. Alien, colossal, gigantic giant squid."

"Okay," Jennifer said, squinting along the line of her forceps, concentrating on her work.

John continued in a dreamy voice. "Great big eye, biggest eye in... the galaxy. And the other one. Any galaxy! Real big..."

"Sounds awful!" said Jennifer absently, extracting a hook which had been particularly deep in John's calf muscle and dropping it with satisfaction into the dish. Nearly done.

"Yeah, but I shot it and chopped it!" John made vague shooting and chopping motions with his uninjured arm and looked in puzzlement when he felt the drag of the IVs. "Then I locked it out and everyone's safe. For now." Jennifer glanced up and saw his eyes drooping. He yawned. "Gotta keep everyone safe," he muttered. "T's m'job." His breathing evened out and deepened. Jennifer shook her head and continued with her work.

John didn't wake even when he was turned onto his side so that Jennifer could apply a couple of butterfly closures to the deeper areas of the slash across his back. She left him in the care of a vigilant nurse and, stripping off her surgical gloves with relief, went to make her report to the inevitable gathering in the waiting area.

oOo

Rodney leapt to his feet and rushed forward as soon as he saw Jennifer.

"How is he? Is he going to be okay? Did he say anything?"

Jennifer steered Rodney back to his chair. "Yes, he'll be okay," she said, sitting down herself. She looked round at the assembled group. "Colonel Sheppard will be okay," she repeated. "I was worried that his recent abdominal injury might have herniated, but it hasn't, although the muscles around it are quite badly strained." She paused. "The other injuries to his upper left arm, right ankle and lower leg and his back should heal just fine, although I am concerned about infection. Some of the hooks were deeply embedded."

"What manner of creature would cause such injuries?" asked Teyla.

"Colonel Sheppard thought it was some kind of giant alien squid. He mentioned a huge eye and said he'd shot it. And chopped it. So I guess it had him and he cut its tentacles." She shuddered.

"When can we speak to the Colonel?" enquired Woolsey.

"Not for a good few hours," said Jennifer. "He needs to sleep."

"I'm afraid this is a matter of city-wide security!" began Woolsey. "Surely..."

"And _I'm_ afraid that I'll have to insist Colonel Sheppard be left alone until at least mid-morning," Jennifer interrupted. "If it helps, he seemed to think he had the creature locked out pretty good. He said we're safe for now." Jennifer shrugged, as if that was good enough for her.

"Well, I suppose that will have to do!" said Woolsey. "We will reconvene in the morning!"

oOo

Radek Zelenka approached the infirmary with trepidation. He carried neither coffee nor any kind of snack and, in the manual entitled "Dealing with Rodney McKay - a survivor's guide", which existed entirely in Radek's head, to approach a stressed McKay without some form of pacification was tantamount to suicide. He hesitated. It wasn't too late; he could still visit the mess hall and acquire some of the muffins that Rodney particularly liked. But no, the squawking coming through Radek's ear-piece had been increasing in frequency for the past hour. He would proceed, but with extreme caution.

Radek entered the infirmary to find Rodney sitting up in the bed next to the sleeping Colonel's, drinking coffee and eating muffins. Oh, the privileges granted to those loved by the Chief Medical Officer, thought Radek, with a mental roll of his eyes. He didn't actually roll his eyes because the manual contained a section entitled: 'Maintaining a neutral expression'.

"Ah, Zelenka! About..." Rodney broke off and with a sidelong glance at Sheppard, continued in a quieter voice. "About time!"

"Rodney, why are you in an infirmary bed?" asked Radek, not a little put out that he'd been sent scuttling over Atlantis for half the night and thinking Rodney could have also done some of the scuttling.

"I wanted to stay with Sheppard!" said Rodney with, Radek noted, the classic 'Defensive chin lift', as described in the manual. "And I may have fallen off my chair once or twice, so Jennifer said ... Anyway! That's beside the point! What did you find?"

Zelenka told Rodney about the outlying areas of the city that had been completely cut off, power conduits effectively severed and doors that looked like they had been welded shut.

"It sounds like Sheppard's bought us some time, then," said Rodney.

"You do not think the creature will just give up?" asked Radek.

"Won't give up," came a drowsy voice, before Rodney could answer.

The Colonel was awake, Radek saw, although he didn't look good, his face shadowed, his eyes slightly bloodshot.

"Won't give up til it's got what it wants," he continued.

"What does it want?" Rodney asked.

"Me, first," John said, experimentally moving his limbs with a grimace. "Then... It wants everything. It wants Atlantis."

oOo

One of the isolation rooms had been taken over and set up for the impromptu conference. A table and chairs had been brought in and John's bed, despite his strenuous protests to Keller that he was very well able to sit in a chair like everyone else. She ignored him and he was secretly glad; although he felt silly and conspicuous tucked up under blankets in his bed when everyone else looked at least semi-businesslike sitting in their uniforms around the table, John knew that he was better off where he was. If he remained motionless he could just about kid himself that he was fine; a trip to the bathroom earlier had brought home to him how very far from fine he actually was, the muscles around his stomach wound screaming their protest and his arm and leg and back feeling hot and tight and burningly sore. At least he'd got rid of that awful gown and been given some scrubs to wear; he couldn't have faced Woolsey's not-a-hair-out-of-place neatness knowing that the slip of a blanket might reveal more than anyone wanted to see.

John scanned the worried faces: his team as well as Woolsey, Keller, Lorne and Zelenka. He regarded his team with affection: Rodney, one hand wrapped round a mug of coffee, the other jabbing at his datapad, Ronon, chair pushed back, in a position that could only be described as 'lolling', Teyla, upright but relaxed, her hands calmly in her lap. She smiled at him and he smiled back, wondering what type and dose of painkiller Keller had him on.

Woolsey sat up straight, shuffling papers and looking round as if to open the meeting. Ronon forestalled him.

"What're we calling this thing? It needs a name."

"I was thinking the Kraken, the legendary sea monster of Scandinavian folklore!" announced Rodney, impressively. 

"Huh!" scoffed John. "I was thinking Squidward, like in Sponge Bob. And as the injured party here, what I say goes!"

Ronon smirked and Rodney began a spluttering protest, but was interrupted by Woolsey.

"Please! We must focus on the matter in hand!" He looked round the assembled group. "Our priority is to come up with a plan of action to deter or otherwise eliminate this... er... 'Squidward'".

Rodney rolled his eyes and John grinned at him.

"Colonel Sheppard," Woolsey continued. "Perhaps you could begin by telling us of your encounter with the creature."

John recounted the night's events, emphasizing his impression of Squidward's intelligence and determination and its ability to control the city systems since it had taken on the unfortunate Private Hutchins' ATA gene.

"But you're sure it doesn't have access currently?" Woolsey asked.

"I can confirm that," said Rodney, as if he had been the one who had spent hours checking the city in person, thought John, his eyes meeting Zelenka's.

The meeting continued, an inventive list of strategies being discussed, ranging from Ronon's "Blow it up!" through Keller's "Poison it?" to Teyla's "Attract a natural predator to eat it!" Zelenka's ideas, which Rodney immediately assumed as his own, included creating a freshwater bubble around the creature, depriving it of it's natural saline habitat, and using low-frequency sound waves, which had been known to kill sea creatures on Earth. Lorne wanted to set out with a strike team straight away. John knew Lorne's opinion: that there were few problems that couldn't be dealt with by the judicious application of rocket launchers backed up by machine guns.

Keller had brought some of the hooked claws to the meeting and Rodney had mumbled something about extracting DNA in order to focus the biometric scanners on tracking the creature. John noticed Zelenka was examining one of the hooks. He turned it this way and that, studying it closely, then took it between two hands as if to test its flexibility. Suddenly Radek's whole body jumped and he flung the broken parts of the claw away from him, loud Polish expletives flying from his lips. Then he snatched one of the bottles of water from the table and upended it over his hand, his rapid imprecations continuing more softly.

"Did you cut yourself, Radek?" Jennifer asked with concern. "Those things are sharp!"

"No, it did not cut, it burned!" said Zelenka, taking another bottle of water and pouring it over his hand, heedless of the puddle forming on the floor.

"Look at it!" Everyone turned and followed Rodney's gaze to where the broken halves of the hook sank slowly into the surface of the table and dropped to the floor below. "It's corrosive! The claws! There must be some mechanism..." Rodney broke off and dived under the table. His muffled "Oh no!" made the hairs on the back of John's neck stand up. Rodney's face slowly appeared above the edge of the table. His eyes met John's. "It's eating through the floor," Rodney croaked.

John looked at Woolsey, who nodded tightly.

"Major Lorne, assemble a strike team. Heavily armed," said Woolsey.

John closed his eyes. He thought he'd bought them some time. Now he knew 'Squidward' could breach the city at any moment.


	6. Chapter 6

Major Lorne had chosen his team carefully and had been glad to accept Teyla and Ronon's offers of help. They had taken heavy calibre weapons and he had entrusted to Ronon's care the AT4 rocket launcher; designed to take down tanks it would surely give a giant squid something to think about.

They had had to wait while Dr McKay had re-enabled the transporter and then Lorne, Teyla and half of the men went down first, leaving Ronon to follow.

The corridor was dark. In the distance there was a soft sibilant sound, like running water. Lorne nodded at one of his men, who threw a lightstick ahead of them into the corridor. In the eerie green glow they crept forward, half the team moving down one side of the corridor and then remaining motionless, vigilant, as the other half mirrored their action and overtook them, in a pincer movement. All were alert for signs of mind control, but the eyes that Lorne could see in the dim light were clear and nobody broke formation. The light grew as they approached the open doorway and illuminated great long scars on the walls, their edges rippled as if the surface had been eaten away. The sound of running water increased and Lorne looked at Teyla and Ronon, puzzled. Something had changed since the area had been searched; the stillness of standing water had been broken and there was movement in the air.

Lorne gestured Ronon forward, rocket launcher at the ready. A quick dash and both sides of the door were covered. Ronon stepped centrally through the door and the rest of the forces followed him through, fanning out to either side, weapons raised. The rush of the water was loud and straight away they could all see they were too late. The inner wall of the room had been breached below the waterline, a great ragged hole could be seen, its edges twisted, melted and torn. Water rushed through the hole, flooding further into the city creating a path for the creature to follow into the heart of Atlantis.

oOo

It slid, slick and sinuous through the hidden ways of the city, its body changing shape, amoeba-like, its tentacles grappling and flailing against the smooth walls, propelling the creature onward. It felt power through the surfaces that surrounded it, it felt the ebb and flow of heat and light and more subtle forms of energy, so different from the dark depths of the deep ocean trenches from which it had come. And behind the buzzing life of the city itself it felt the small forms that rushed here and there, the sweet blood racing round their bodies as tempting as the pure power that flowed through the city's veins.

It spread into a wide space and luxuriated in the spread, turning and stretching, sensing the movements of air against water that were the spoor of its prey, the regular tapping of two creatures, overlaid by the random buzz and click of their communication. It reached out gently, so gently with its mind, a mere caressing suggestion of interest to draw them near. Their horror was delicious against its hungering thoughts. It struck. They were devoured. The tentacles roiled and writhed in delight at the bright flashes of knowledge attained from these small beings and the strange richness of the blood of one of them. Feeling the edges of its environment, the tentacles fastened on to the surface with powerful suction and deployed the substance that would create a way for the huge volume of water and the creature itself, to pass through.

While the walls began to decay and distort it reached out again with its mind and far, far above it could feel that other mind, the one with great strength and the blood that would give it total dominion over this place. He would come. In the end they all came.

oOo

John yawned. He was tired but there was no way he was going to be able to sleep. Teyla and Ronon had gone with Lorne, Rodney had gone off to his lab muttering about low frequencies or something and Zelenka had followed, his burnt hand salved and bandaged. John shivered at the thought of the ugly burn on Zelenka's hand, thinking what would have happened if the corrosive stuff had been injected from the hooks into his wounds. There was nobody else in the infirmary apart from a couple of nurses, Keller having gone to get some rest after her disturbed night. The familiar feelings of frustration and helplessness consumed John, making his fingers twitch restlessly. And there was another feeling, something he couldn't quite grasp. A buzzing strangeness in the air that made his hair itch. He needed to investigate.

John used the bed controls to raise the head a little more and then began to ease his legs over the side.

"Colonel?"

"Bathroom," he said to the nurse.

"Need some help?"

"Only to the door!"

The nurse held out her arm and John stood and straightened up slowly, his stomach muscles spasming painfully, his ankle sending out spikes of distress. He swore and then apologised.

"Heard it all before, Colonel," she said calmly.

John thought he could feel something 'off' about the City's usual background hum even through his bare feet, but the pain was too distracting. He shuffled forward, leaning on the nurse's arm to avoid putting too much weight on his injured leg. Reaching the bathroom, he found he did need to go, so he went and then he washed his hands and then he put both hands flat on the wall and because he was feeling pretty ropey he rested his forehead on the wall too.

He felt it straight away; a subtle sourness, a hint of corruption that told of a malign influence deep within Atlantis herself. _Squidward has entered the building_ , John thought, wryly.

oOo

"Major Lorne?" Woolsey's voice came through Lorne's earpiece.

"Lorne here."

"Major, you need to get your team to the desalination plant. There have been two fatalities and the creature is causing major structural damage!"

"Copy that, Sir. On our way." Lorne turned to his men. "Let's move!"

They crossed the City by the fastest route. A frantic technician rushed up to Lorne pointing back the way she had come. "It's in the saltwater tank, but it's already made a hole. The area's flooding!"

Major Lorne, who had been picturing the layout of the plant as he ran, gave decisive orders to his men. He turned to Ronon.

"Take your team through the door to the upper level, you should be able to get a clear shot into the tank."

As Lorne led his men along the corridor, they found they were splashing through shallow water. Teyla, P90 held in firing position, strode steadily forward at his side. She gave a sharp intake of breath.

"Something is trying to probe my mind!" she said. "It is strong!"

Lorne shivered and stumbled as something alien moved in his thoughts. He concentrated on the task ahead, the safety of his team, the feel of the weapon in his hands. It seemed to draw back and he continued, nodding reassurance at Teyla's concerned look.

Entering the huge room, Lorne saw a row of closed tanks for freshwater, steps leading to high level walkways and before him, the curved metal of the saltwater tank, buckling and straining. Already water gushed out in several places. 

"Up here!" he waved at the nearest stairway. "It's going to go!"

They were too late. A deluge of foaming water rushed toward them.

"Hang on!" Lorne yelled. He grasped a metal strut and clung on as the torrent swept his feet out from under him. The flow settled, swirling at thigh height and he let go and looked round. His men were scattered. They would have to retreat. Then it was as if something called to him and he waded forward, the water pushing back against his legs. Through the twisted metal came a creature so huge it defied belief. It seemed to contract as it slithered through the gap, its body changing shape at will, and then it expanded to fill the open space, tentacles like hose or anacondas or great lengths of huge cable waving in rippling exploration.

Lorne shook his head; he couldn't think. He saw Teyla call out to him but could not hear her words. Something gripped him around the waist and as he was lifted off the floor, he felt sharp points piercing his skin. The pain was enough to clear his head. His arms were free. He still held his rifle. He fired at the base of the tentacle again and again but it still held him tight. The weapon was ripped from his hands and he felt a wave of hatred and hunger wash into his mind which left him limp, shaking and unable to react. The rapid chatter of weapons fire turned the hatred to pain and Lorne found himself able to move once more. His knife! Reaching round the tentacle his fingers found his combat knife. He drew it and hacked at the ghastly blue-white limb but it tightened around him, its hooks digging into him, its solid muscle crushing his ribs.

A shattering explosion made the room shake and suddenly he was falling, the clawed tentacle ripping free of his clothes and flesh. He landed, hard, face down on the biting mesh structure of a walkway and lay, stunned, amid the confusion of sound and pain. Lorne raised his head and his blurred vision focussed briefly on Ronon, lowering the rocket launcher from his shoulder, before a grey haze surrounded him and he felt himself fall into darkness.

oOo

Keller came rushing into the infirmary and began giving directions to her nurses and John recognised the purposeful efficiency; there had been casualties.

"Doc, what's happened?"

"Not now, Colonel!"

Urgent voices heralded the arrival of a gurney: Major Lorne, his tac vest and shirt in shreds, a swathe of soaked pressure bandages round his waist. They rushed through to the operating room and the infirmary was briefly still until a couple of dripping wet Marines trailed in, sporting more minor injuries. Then Ronon and Teyla arrived, looking damp and bedraggled, but unhurt.

"What happened?"

Teyla sighed and ran a hand through her wet hair. "It appeared to target Major Lorne."

"The ATA gene," said John. "It's like the thing can smell it."

"We fired upon the creature but it barely seemed to notice."

"Got it with a rocket," added Ronon.

"You killed it?"

"We merely injured it," said Teyla.

"Come on! It took a rocket up the... erm... and you're saying it survived?"

"Toughest thing I ever saw," said Ronon.

"There were... parts left behind. Multiple appendages," Teyla said with distaste. "But it appears it can almost spontaneously produce more. Its body was damaged, but we were unable to prevent it from escaping."

"So where is it now?"

"In the sewers."


	7. Chapter 7

Richard Woolsey scanned the assembled faces: Colonel Sheppard, in a wheelchair, looking pale but determined, Dr Keller, come straight from patching up Major Lorne, and Ronon and Teyla, both grim-faced and ready for action. Major Teldy had also joined them, since Lorne was indisposed. _Another working day, another threat to the City_ , he thought. He wondered what was keeping Drs McKay and Zelenka and decided to start without them.

Woolsey straightened up and took a breath. "We have a serious situation on our hands. This creature has withstood far more force than we thought possible, which has made it necessary to evacuate all non-essential personnel to the alpha site. We must come up with a way to eliminate it once and for all."

"A drone'd do the job," muttered Ronon.

"A drone would also seriously damage the City," said Woolsey.

"I think Ronon's got the right idea." John chewed his lower lip thoughtfully. "If we could drive it out into the open somehow, or lure it out."

"I hope you're not thinking of using yourself as bait, Sheppard," said Rodney, entering with his usual bustling self-importance, Zelenka at his heels. Zelenka struggled with a large tube-like device which appeared to be a strange hybrid of a leaf blower and a rocket launcher. "Voilà!" said Rodney, gesturing grandly as Zelenka deposited the device on the table with relief.

"Is that some kind of a weapon, Dr McKay?" asked Woolsey.

"That is a low frequency air-cannon," he replied. "Designed to emit a frequency range of between fifty and four hundred Hertz at up to one hundred and seventy-five decibels! Ear protection _will_ be required!"

"It fires sound not missiles?" Woolsey thought Colonel Sheppard sounded disappointed, but Major Teldy looked interested, reaching forward to examine the controls. Dr McKay looked like he wanted to slap her hand away.

"You believe this will be effective?" asked Woolsey.

"I'd give that an unqualified maybe," Rodney admitted. 

"Earth-based studies have shown that low frequency sounds harm sea life such as squid and octupus, disorienting them and even killing them," said Zelenka.

"The creature is not truly a squid or an octopus," said Teyla. "It may be immune to such measures."

Rodney shrugged his shoulders. "It's the best I've got at short notice. I built two."

" _We_ built two," said Zelenka.

The lights flickered almost imperceptibly and Woolsey looked around, wondering if he had imagined it.

"Did you see...?" he began. The lights flickered again then went out completely, then flared briefly before going back to their normal level. Woolsey's eyes fell on Colonel Sheppard, who was frowning, bent forward, his head in one hand. "Colonel?"

"Need to get to the Control Chair," he said, teeth gritted in obvious pain.

oOo

The gentle hum of Atlantis' normal functions had been changing for a while, John realised, but so gradually he'd hardly noticed. The hum became a buzz which grew more and more harsh until he was struggling to concentrate, then the lights wavered and flared and John felt an intense pain behind his eyes. He sagged forward and pressed his fingers against his closed eyelids, trying to ease the pain. He felt someone holding his wrist, checking his pulse.

"Colonel, can you tell me what's wrong?" Keller's voice.

The agony withdrew slowly and John opened his eyes, squinting at the doctor's concerned face.

"It's got more control of Atlantis," he said, his voice strained. "It's reaching out... to me."

"The technicians!" Rodney said. "Did either of them have the ATA gene?"

"Dr Gellert did," said Zelenka. "He had the artificial gene."

The doors slid open and everyone turned, expectantly, but then suddenly they slammed shut and the room was plunged into darkness.

"This has gone far enough!" came Woolsey's voice. "Dr McKay, Dr Zelenka, we need to get these weapons deployed as soon as possible. Major Teldy, Ronon, Teyla, form a plan of action to drive the creature out where it can safely be destroyed. Colonel Sheppard, can you protect Atlantis' systems from the Control Chair?"

"Yeah, I can do that," he replied, sounding a lot more sure than he felt.

Jennifer interrupted. "I realise the Colonel's expertise is needed here, but I feel I have to state that he is still at significant risk of infection and needs regular monitoring and more IV antibiotics."

"Is it possible to do those things while he's in the Chair?" Woolsey asked.

"Well, yes, I suppose so..."

Woolsey nodded, decisively. "Do it. Now, can we please get these lights up and the doors open?"

oOo

It seethed within the constricted space, its torn flesh rippling and shuddering. Those small creatures were weak, but their weapons could bite; it was damaged, but not enough to matter, and now it felt its power over this place increasing. It still wanted _him_. It still wanted that pure, rich blood which would give it the ultimate mastery. It called out to him and felt the City respond: the City that it would take and make its own and, having outgrown this little world and its seas and oceans, would traverse the very stars themselves like a shining, bright jewel, both fascinating and fatal.

oOo

John was surrounded by irritation when all he wanted was to get on with his job. He gritted his teeth while suffering the indignity of the wheelchair, the awkward and painful move across to the Ancient Chair, then the annoying blood pressure cuff and thermometer and finally the jabbing cannulas and their trailing IV lines.

"Finished?" he asked Keller impatiently. She didn't look happy.

"You temp's up a bit."

"Have to do," he said shortly and leant back to immerse himself gratefully in Atlantis. John was horrified at Atlantis' condition. There was corruption almost throughout the systems and he could feel the black, beating heart of that corruption immediately, that mind that constantly, hungrily sought his own. He fought it, avoiding the hooks it tried to set in his mind, as sharp as the barbs on its tentacles. His thoughts dodged here and there setting to rights damage the creature had caused, smoothing out glitches, reinitialising failed pathways. The thing was powerful but it had no idea what it was dealing with and, if unchecked, could destroy Atlantis and everything within it.

John felt someone touch his arm and heard his name called. He opened his eyes and sat up, surprised to find he felt drained and was shivering in his thin scrubs. Keller handed him an earpiece, saying, "Rodney wants you."

"Rodney?"

"Sheppard, we're ready, can you tell us where it is?"

John leant back and searched with his mind. He felt warmer suddenly and realised Keller must have covered him with a blanket. Distracted, thinking he must look ridiculous, Rodney's voice came again urgently in his ear.

"Sheppard? What's happening?"

"Give me a minute, Rodney." His mind ran deep into Atlantis, toward the tendrils of the creature's dark mind.

"North West central, level two," he said. "It's in some kind of subsidiary water tank."

"We'll try to drive it toward the underwater jumper bay," said Rodney. "Keep track of it!"

"Will do."

oOo

Rodney was with Major Teldy and her team, co-ordinating via comm link with Teyla, who led another team of marines and Ronon. They approached the beast's location. Rodney studied his datapad.

"Access to the sewage system is through here," he said, removing a panel on the wall to reveal a crawl space mostly filled by a broad pipe. "We need to get this open and fire a pulse down it at the same time as Teyla's team hit it from the other end. With any luck it'll take the only remaining route: down."

Teldy waved Sergeant Mehra forward and she eagerly pushed herself in through the opening and began turning the handwheel to access the interior of the pipe. She hauled back the heavy hatch and shone a flashlight down inside.

"All clear," she said.

The Major lifted the air-cannon through to Sergeant Mehra, who hefted it briskly in through the opening.

"Careful with that Sergeant!" Rodney fussed.

"Don't you worry, Sir!" she said, cheerfully. "Makin' weapons is your thing, handlin' them's mine."

She put on her ear defenders, making sure her earpiece was inside so she could hear the signal to fire and, hanging upside down half in half out of the pipe, aimed the weapon.

"Ready!" Her voice sounded hollowly from inside. 

Rodney muttered something about trigger-happy Marines. Teyla's voice came through his comm link and he acknowledged.

"Teyla's team is ready," he said. "Everyone put your ear defenders on - this is going to be loud. On my mark... Fire!"

Even with protection the sound was thunderous. It rolled on and on, booming through the metal pipe, like an impossibly deep, impossibly loud cathedral organ. Rodney had set the cannon to thirty second bursts and when the noise suddenly ceased his ears took a moment to adjust to the silence.

"Teyla? Everything okay your end?" No reply. "Teyla! Respond! Teyla!"

"Rodney." Teyla sounded out of breath. "We have lost Sergeant Hayward."

"What? Lost? What do you mean lost?"

"We activated the cannon, but after a few seconds it shut off and we heard the Sergeant cry out from inside the water pipe. Then," Teyla took a shuddering breath, "it pulled him in."

"Pulled him in," repeated Rodney, feeling sick. "Sheppard! Sheppard?"

"Here, Rodney." His voice sounded weary and strained. "I'm guessing that didn't work."

"No. We lost a man. I don't know what to do now! Short of setting off a nuclear bomb inside the city, I don't see how to get rid of this thing!"

"Calm down, McKay, we'll think of something." Rodney heard John gasp suddenly.

"What? What's wrong? What's happening?"

"I think... I think it's trying to access the stardrive! McKay, I don't think I can stop it!"


	8. Chapter 8

John squinted through his increasing headache and tried to wrest back control of the stardrive. He vaguely heard Jennifer's voice and barked a sharp: "Not now!"

The creature bent all of its will toward forcing Atlantis to rise from the surface of the ocean. John fought, his mind against the alien mind, feeling it deep inside the city, feeding power into the stardrive crudely, massive amounts of power which would blow the city apart. He felt the room tremble about him and heard the rising whine of the protesting drives. Distantly John heard himself cry out; this head-to-head battle would kill them all. He had to stop fighting; initialise the systems in order, stabilise the power output and bring the stardrive online safely. Working around the creature's disastrous influence, John could only firefight as the City strained under the brute strength of its will.

Atlantis rose, leaving its ocean home, gaining speed, the air thinning. John raised the shield and knew the sky around them was darkening from blue to indigo to black as they left the planet's atmosphere. He felt the creature reach for the hyperdrive and desperately tried to shield the connections; he found them severed and breathed a sigh of relief. It seemed Rodney had been busy.

oOo

The creature had gambled and it had won. It knew it had not yet the knowledge to guide the City to the stars alone and so it had poured all the force of its will into simply ordering the City to rise. It felt the wild surges of power and knew it risked destruction. But he had intervened to protect his City and now they flew in the immense blackness in which the biggest ocean would have been but a drop of water. The humans had somehow managed to prevent the City slipping through the stars like a shark through the shoals, but when the creature had caught and devoured the one whose mind meshed with the City perfectly, then it would have dominion over all.

oOo

Rodney entered the Chair Room at a run and skidded to a halt. The Chair was upright, its blue lights dark. John sat, slumped with exhaustion. He had a blood pressure cuff around his arm and Jennifer was frowning.

"Is he OK?"

"He's right here, Rodney. I'm fine."

"You're not fine, Colonel!" Jennifer said tightly. "You've been under a huge amount of strain trying to fight that... that thing!"

"Someone's gotta do it," John drawled, rubbing his forehead. "What's the verdict, McKay?"

"Yes, what is our current status, Dr McKay?" Woolsey entered, Ronon and Teyla following close behind.

"We're in a stable orbit, for now. I've cut off access to the hyperdrive, for now. Atlantis isn't about to get ripped apart by opposing forces, _for now!_ How long that situation lasts, is anyone's guess, if we can't stop this thing!"

"Nuke it," said Ronon.

"Do you believe the creature will eventually access the hyperdrive?" Woolsey asked.

"Going by what it's achieved so far, I'd say yes. I'd say it can do anything it puts its apparently gigantic brain to."

"Can't we just nuke it?" Ronon mumbled.

"You saying it's got a bigger brain than yours, Rodney?" Rodney ignored John and Woolsey continued.

"So, our course of action? Suggestions?"

"Nu..."

"We can't nuke it, Chewie!" John interrupted. "Anyway, I've got an idea. Well it was McKay's idea, I guess."

"What? What idea?" Rodney looked at John's face and didn't like the expression of combined terror and anticipation he saw.

"Bait."

oOo

The man was weak, it could tell - weak in body and weakening in mind. Was he ready to give in? To mix their blood and gain mastery of the stars? To wreak a path of glorious destruction across the great abyss? Whatever his intention, he was alone and undefended and even if he thought to lay a trap, it would be to no avail. 

It was coming for him.

oOo

John sat at the end of the pier, alone. He waited. He knew it would come. The first sign was a flicker of movement off to one side, a thin, waving strand, testing the air, followed by more, thicker, latching on to any hold, tightening, gripping, hauling. The huge, bloated body was dragged up and over the side of the pier and John saw its eyes like full moons rising, cold and harsh and unfathomable. It slid with an ugly rasping sound, its blue-grey flesh folding and undulating, ponderous and slow away from its watery element. _Or is that an act?_ John thought.

He felt the evil triumph of its mind, the light touches, almost caressing, here and there as if testing and tasting its long-anticipated prize. John allowed his mind and body to appear weak, which wasn't difficult, weary as he felt, his wounds throbbing, his skin hot and dry. It approached.

oOo

Finally, it would possess his mind and the blood that would refine its own to give undreamt-of power. The man waited, alone before his conqueror, accepting his fate, accepting the true path to greatness, by giving himself willingly. Victory was sweet.

oOo

John watched it approach, closer and closer until the first of its tentacles gently touched his face, its rubbery, fleshy tip sickening against his skin. The sour stench of ammonia increased as it hauled its cumbersome body over the smooth surface of the pier. John had to force himself not to scream, to hold himself still as the creature touched his body. He waited when all he wanted was to run.

He waited until it seemed that there was no escape, until it seemed that the creature must take him in its hateful embrace and tear out his life in blood and agony.

John knew to a split second when the time was right. He moved. He stood and brought up the air-cannon in one smooth swing and fired a great blast of deafening noise so that he felt the vibrations deep within his body. The tentacles fell back, but John knew the creature could withstand the onslaught and would quickly recover. He sped, adrenaline-fuelled, past the creature, training the air-cannon on its body, waving it in a spiral to disorient and confuse. The tentacles began to reach out once more toward him and he forced his unwilling body to keep straining forward, back along the pier, the towers of Atlantis beckoning him. Was it enough? He didn't know, so he kept running, kept moving until he tripped and fell hard onto the deck, the air-cannon spinning from his hands, his ear defenders skittering after it. He lay, lungs heaving, sharp knives of pain cutting into him, shaking with fear and adrenaline.

Footsteps banged rapidly across the deck toward him. John felt a hand on his shoulder and tremblingly raised his head to see Rodney, his face wearing a slightly manic look of mingled triumph and concern.

"We did it, Sheppard!"

oOo

Rodney thought John had left it too late. His heart thumping, his hands shaking he had had to watch as the tentacles rippled out toward his friend and began to touch him with nauseatingly welcoming gestures. He had been sure that at any moment John would be engulfed and brought to the creature’s mouth and consumed. Then John stood. The air-cannon fired, it's throbbing boom almost painful even from a distance. The tentacles were writhing, confused, and John was running, dodging, weaving through them, holding the cannon trained on the creature as he ran. He was past, home free and Rodney stabbed at his laptop.

The shield dropped back. John was inside. The creature was outside, isolated in the vacuum of space.

oOo

It had had him; alone, undefended, within its grasp he had stood and the creature had triumphed in his surrender. And then the pain had come, confusing and enraging and he had run, slipped through and past and away, the chance at taking his precious blood gone. A barrier had sprung up and the creature felt itself float free. There was no water, no air, just complete exposure to the void. The creature’s hearts laboured, it felt fiery pain, it reached for the City with its mind and cried out its anguish. The City did not respond and the creature knew that this was the end.

oOo

John leant on Rodney's shoulder, both of them sitting on the pier, the towers of the City behind them and in front, in a pocket of vacuum at the edge of Atlantis' shield, a mass of roiling, furious tentacles, two huge bloodshot eyes, and the gigantic body, the grey-blue skin sagging, shrivelling and blackening as its moisture boiled away and it slowly suffocated.

"Squidward has left the building," said John tiredly.

Ronon and Teyla sat down and all four watched the creature's slow demise. John shivered and felt Teyla move closer and put her arm around his shoulders.

"It is over," said Teyla. "And you need the infirmary."

John shook his head. "Gotta land this thing yet." He tried to summon up the energy to stand but he was cold and hurt and didn't want to move. "Rodney, d'you think...?"

"Yeah, I can land her for you, Sheppard," Rodney said softly.

"Keller's going to be pissed with you, Sheppard," remarked Ronon, smirking.

"Why?"

Ronon jerked his head toward the tumbling remains of the creature. Tangled in the tentacles was the dreaded wheelchair.

"Oh."


	9. Chapter 9

Jennifer had been pissed, but not because of the wheelchair. She had been pissed at him mainly, thought Rodney, and to a certain extent Ronon and even Teyla.

"Why didn't you call me straight away?" she had said, arriving at the pier with her team and a gurney to find Sheppard, collapsed, the dressing round his ankle spotted with blood, his fever raging. "And don't tell me he said he was fine, because you know very well he always says that!"

"We were just enjoying our moment of triumph," Rodney had replied in a small voice, but Jennifer had snorted and whisked Sheppard away. Then Rodney had had to undertake the hair-raising task of landing Atlantis safely back on the oceans of New Lantea and really, it was all very well knowing how the City worked in theory and all about re-entry, safe angle of incidence, approach velocity and all that, but it turned out it was a very different thing to actually be responsible for doing it in practice. Anyway, they had landed safely and Rodney was glad he'd been up to the job; Sheppard certainly hadn't been.

Rodney raised his eyes from the glow of his laptop and regarded Sheppard's sleeping form and beyond him that of Major Lorne. Both were suffering from the after effects of Squidward's barbed tentacles, but both were responding to treatment, according to Jennifer. John shifted beneath the blankets and moaned softly and Rodney froze, afraid of incurring Jennifer's wrath if she thought he had woken John up. But John just sighed deeply and his breathing evened out again.

Rodney turned back to his work. He tapped a few keys, sighed, deleted the lot and tried again. He'd thought he should write to the families of the two technicians who'd been killed, but he wasn't very good at that kind of thing. Maybe leave it to Zelenka. He felt his eyelids drooping.

"Rodney."

He jerked awake, nearly dropping the laptop. Jennifer was leaning over him.

"Oh, er, hi."

Jennifer jerked her head toward the empty bed behind him and raised an eyebrow.

"If you're staying..." she said.

Rodney smiled, realising he was no longer in disgrace and gratefully kicked off his shoes and got into the bed. Now he could keep an eye on Sheppard and do some work in comfort, he thought, and promptly fell asleep.

oOo

"This wasn't the convalescence I had in mind for you," said Keller, sitting down next to John who was getting some fresh air on the balcony, his temperature finally back to normal, his wounds on the mend. He squirmed awkwardly in one of the few remaining wheelchairs and chewed his lip, wondering if she was finally going to condemn him to a lengthy stay on Earth. 

"I'm not angry with you," she said earnestly. "I know you do what you do to protect us all. I just wish sometimes we could protect you."

John shrugged, embarrassed, wishing people would understand he was just doing his job. Keller sighed. John hoped she'd had enough of the one-sided conversation; he was grateful for her care - maybe he could say that? Then again, maybe not.

"I'm not sending you to Earth," she said. A knot unwound inside him. "I realise you belong here, maybe more than anywhere else." He frowned, thinking that was probably true and wondering if it was a good thing. "But," she continued, "you must take time to recover and rely on me and your team to help you! Yes?"

"Yeah, er... Thanks."

She smiled, got up and turned away. Then turned back. "You know I'm not letting you out yet, don't you? And there'll be no wheedling or bargaining for early release or anything of that sort?"

"Yeah, I know."

"Good." She left and was immediately succeeded by his team.

Rodney, his eyes fixed firmly on his laptop, sat down, twitching a finger and murmuring, "Sheppard," in economical greeting.

Teyla did the full Athosian thing, as she usually did when John had, yet again, faced death or serious injury.

Ronon picked up a chair, flung it round and sat down, draping himself over the back, his legs carelessly sprawled either side.

"So, you think there're any more of those things?" he said.

"I've configured the sensors using a sample of Squidward's DNA," said Rodney absently, not taking his eyes off his work. "If there's one within a hundred clicks we'll know about it."

"What will we do if we detect one of the creatures?" asked Teyla.

Rodney looked up from his laptop and the four team-mates met each other's eyes; then John, Rodney and Teyla turned to Ronon.

Ronon smiled. "Nuke it."


End file.
